


Home

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever he looks at his hands – at the dirt under his nails and worn into the creases of his palms – he's reminded that they're safe now. The prison is secure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Three. Written for LJ's hc_bingo community for the prompt "homesickness"
> 
> * * *

Rick smiles at the dirt under his nails.

Not grime from the tombs or the gritty ground-in filth of days on the run, struggling to find enough to eat, to keep a roof over their heads, to stay one step ahead of the walkers or the people that can be worse than walkers. This is good old fashioned soil, pressed beneath his nails as a memory of a long hard day working in the fields. Whenever he looks at his hands – at the dirt under his nails and worn into the creases of his palms – he's reminded that they're safe now. The prison is secure. The madman who called himself the Governor is driven off, his troops broken. His children are behind strong walls and have equally strong men and women to protect them. 

And soon they'll have fresh food. Beets and turnips and green beans. And he doesn't care how much dirt he gets under his nails or how much his back aches when he finally lays down for the night on his thin mattress. In fact, he welcomes every pain if it brings them another step closer to a real home for his family.

He glances up, shakes his head at Carl's quizzical look. He leans his sore back against the wall and takes in the rest of the group, can't help feeling his own positive energy flowing right back at him. There is a comfort level that he's never felt before, a sense of relaxation and peace that permeates the air. 

It takes Rick a moment to identify the feeling. It's hope.

He sees it reflected all around him – in Tyrese's arm flung casually over Karen's shoulder, in Maggie's bright smile, in the sound of Beth's voice as she murmurs a lullaby in perfect pitch. He watches as Judith stares intently up at Beth's blue eyes, transfixed by the song and the movement of her lips. The moment lasts until the baby sees her new doll on the picnic table and makes a sudden, wild grab for it. Beth's surprised laughter is as beautiful as her aborted song. 

"Thanks for the doll," Rick says. He reaches out to brush his hand gently over his daughter's peach fuzz hair, laughs when the little girl ignores him completely to mouth at the doll's soft body and gurgle happily. "She loves it, as you can tell." 

"Anytime. Every little girl should have a special doll." Maggie bounces the baby on her knee, making Judith squeal, before side-glancing Beth with what Rick would define as a definite mischievous look in her eye. "Just make sure she doesn't hide it in the pantry and then forget where she put it."

Rick raises a brow when Hershel snorts out a laugh, glances between the two of them and a squirming Beth. "Okay," he asks, "what am I missing?"

"Nothing," Beth says quickly.

"Now Beth, there's nothing to be ashamed of," Hershel says. He pats her knee, and Rick again notes how the serenity of the place has translated to the people – to soft touches and calm voices and sharing stories under a moonlit sky and a warm breeze. "When Beth was a little girl, she had a special dolly. Her mama bought it for her one Christmas. 'Course Beth thought it was from Santa Claus—"

"I was four, Daddy," Beth says.

"Yes, you were," Hershel agrees. "Four and full of your own opinions even then. One of which," he continues, turning to Rick, "was that Maggie was going to steal her dolly."

"I was ten," Maggie points out. "Well past the doll stage. My Christmas present that year was a BB gun."

"Do we really need to tell this story?" Beth groans out.

"So she found a special hiding place and hid it away from her sister," Hershel continues. "And then she couldn't remember where she hid it! Oh my, we spent two weeks listening to her wail night and day, crying about that poor doll. Her mama finally found it one day when Beth was at school, hidden behind the bags of rice."

Beth shakes her head, reaches out to pluck Judith from Maggie's lap and snuggle her close, nuzzling her nose against the baby's hair. "I'm sure you both made up that story just to tease me," she says.

Maggie's eyes go wide. "I can't believe you don't remember!"

"I don't think it ever happened," Beth says primly. 

"Awww," Rick says, "every kid has a special hiding place, Beth. Mine used to be under a loose floor board in the hall closet. Put everything in there from baseball cards to the first phone number I ever got from a girl." Rick smiles. Much as Shane always used to tease him that he was never gonna get to third base with anyone and that Lori was his first and only love, he still remembers pretty blonde Ashley Simmons with much fondness. 

"Was it Mom?" Carl asks. "The phone number?"

Rick spares a quick glance with Hershel and Tyrese before grinning at his son. "Sure," he says. "Let's go with that." When Carl just rolls his eyes, Rick grins wider and nudges Carl's shoulder. "We oughta get in, what'd you say? Get some shut eye. Six a.m. comes mighty early."

Carl nods in acquiescence. By the time his son has gotten lithely to his feet, none the worse for wear after a long day of planting in the fields, Rick has barely begun to rise. He shakes his head ruefully, watches as his son leans down to kiss Judith quickly on the forehead – and if Carl thinks he doesn't notice that the action also puts him perilously close to Beth's cheek, he's got another think coming. Rick meets Beth's eyes, knows she knows it too. But the girl just grins in subtle amusement, lifts her shoulder to indicate she understands the crush exists and there's no problem for him to deal with. 

He watches Carl disappear into the prison with a backward wave at the others. 

No worries about what he'll find inside. No fear. No caution required.

Rick smiles and turns away, takes the baby from Beth and kisses Judith's forehead before snuggling her into his arms. The baby blinks sleepily up at him, her doll still clenched in one chubby fist. There is only trust in her eyes. 

Rick runs a finger down her cheek, notes again the dirt under his nails and sighs contentedly. 

He's making a safe home for his children.

* * *

Carl frowns as he makes his way through the darkened corridors to Block C.

He can maneuver from the cell block to the showers blindfolded, knows the way from the boiler room to the south barricade in the tombs like the back of his hand. Over the course of the year he has examined almost every inch of the old prison, clambered over fallen rock, investigated half-blocked passageways and darkened stairwells. He's been part of repair crews and walker patrols. He knows every nook and cranny of the place.

He doesn't remember what his bedroom in the old house looked like. 

He can't remember if he turned left or right from the front door to get to his room. 

He thinks he might have had a poster of a baseball player on his wall, but he doesn't remember the guy's name or what position he played.

If he had a hiding place for his secret treasures, he doesn't know where it was.

Carl detours from his route to dash into the bathrooms, dry heaves into the shower drain until he sees stars dancing behind his eyelids. When he hears voices in the hallway he gets quickly to his feet, wipes the tears from his eyes hastily with the back of his hand.

He tells himself that it's not possible to be homesick for a place he doesn't even remember. But he still lays awake that night, staring sightlessly at the family photo he risked everything to get and trying desperately to remember his home.


End file.
